


Goodnight, Caroline

by FuchsiaMae



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Sleepovers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 13:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16640627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuchsiaMae/pseuds/FuchsiaMae
Summary: Caroline spends the night at Mr. Johnson's house.





	Goodnight, Caroline

_With the introduction of our new, diet-friendly pudding substitute_

_diet-friendly pudding substitute_

The letters blurred before Caroline’s eyes. She stared at them a long moment before shaking herself awake. It had been a long night—and a longer day, and an even longer day before that—but she wouldn’t dare nap at her desk. If Mr. Johnson caught her, it could cost her job. He’d always been good to her, but she’d seen his temper when other people stepped out of line, and she wasn’t about to risk it. She went back to typing.

_pudding substitute, we hope to_

The night was almost over. Soon she could go home and get some rest. She just had to finish these last… few…  

“Rise and shine, kiddo.”

She blinked blearily as a hand nudged her shoulder. “Hmm?” Lifting her head from her desk— when did she put it down?—she looked up into her boss’s face.

“You okay? You were out like a light for a while there.”

“I fell asleep?” Her tired eyes went wide as her heart kicked into overdrive. Panicked adrenaline flooded her veins. This was it, he’d fire her for sure—“I’m so sorry, sir, I would never—”

But in response he only laughed. “Relax, kid, it’s alright. I figured you were tuckered out, so I left you alone.”

“How long was I out?”

“Couple hours.”

“Oh my god.”

He laughed again at her stricken face. “I keep tellin’ ya you work too hard. And I’ve never said that to _anybody.”_

“I really do apologize, Mr. Johnson, it’ll never happen again—”

“Hey, hey, take it easy. I’m not mad." True, he didn’t look mad. Angry Cave Johnson tended to smile less and yell more than he was doing now. She allowed herself a breath of relief. “I wanna make sure my best employee’s at the top of her game. Just don’t make it a habit.”

“Of course, sir.”

He chucked her under the chin. The brief contact made her heart skip. “You promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.” He stretched and groaned, becoming a yawn halfway through. “Now let’s both get to bed, I’m bushed.” He turned and headed to the door.

Then an awful thought crept up on her. “What time is it?”

“1:30, why?”

“Oh. I take the bus.” The last company shuttle left at eleven. She was stranded.

He stopped in the doorway. “You want a ride?”

Her eyes went wide. “With you?”

“Sure. I got time.”

“It—it’s not out of your way, is it?”

“Aw, I don’t mind.”

“I don't want to inconvenience you, sir—”

“What’d I just say?” He smiled. “I want you on the ball, kid. I’ll drive a few extra miles for that. Where d’you live?”

“In town. It’s a bit far.”

“Don’t worry about it. Cave’s got you covered.” He started out the door. When she hesitated, he called, “C’mon,” over his shoulder. She grabbed her purse and followed at his heels.

The hallways were eerily silent. Normally they bustled with life, but only the night shift’s skeleton crew was on duty now. They passed a sleepy-eyed security guard on the way to the parking lot.

“Thank you again, sir,” she piped up from behind him. “I really am sorry about this.” He didn’t answer. "How far do you have to drive back?"

"From town? Hour ‘n’ a half, maybe," he shrugged. "Less if I speed."

She stopped walking. “You won’t be home till four!”

“I won’t be home at all if you keep up like this.” He looked at her—still smiling, but losing patience.

“Sir—”

“What are you gonna do, sleep at your desk?” He snorted. “I’m not gonna let you do that.”

"I don't want to take you that far out of your way," she said helplessly.

"Then how're you gonna get home?"

"I..."

"Unless—well, you could stay at my place."

Her eyes went even wider, and she felt herself flush red. “Oh I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?

“It would be… inappropriate.” He barked a laugh, and she reddened further. “I mean—”

“Caroline, you’re adorable. But trust me, no funny business. I have a sofa. And if you’re so worried about being inconvenient, it won’t put me outta my way.”

“Mr. Johnson, I—I can’t…”

"You don't wanna stay with me, you don't want me to drive you, you can't walk home, Caroline, whaddaya want?"

She wanted to melt into the ground. She wanted him to stop being so considerate and let her suffer for her own mistake. She wanted more than anything to be on the Aperture shuttle bus headed home. But wanting wouldn’t make any of those things happen, and all she could do was stammer with her eyes on the floor in burning embarrassment.

He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Look, kid. I know you’re stubborn. I _like_ you stubborn. But you’re not getting outta this one, ‘cause I’m not letting you sleep here on the floor.” He turned her to face him, cupping her chin with his other hand, and as he looked her in the eye she had to remember to breathe. “Quit being stubborn and let me help you.”

Well, she couldn’t contradict an order. And as _inappropriate_ as it might be, one option put him through less trouble. She swallowed her nerves. “I guess I could… stay with you.”

“Good girl.” He patted her cheek. Then he let her go—and to her surprise, he turned around.

“Sir?” She trotted after him. “Where are we going?”

“Home.” He grinned at her like she was outside an in-joke. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

She followed him back the way they came, until he rounded a corner into an elevator alcove she’d never noticed before. “Johnson,” he said to the air, and the elevator button blinked from red to green. He pushed it, it dinged, and the doors slid open. She followed him inside.

The doors closed behind them—and then she was alone with her boss, in a small elevator, in the middle of the night. She was very conscious of her own breathing.

But Cave Johnson couldn’t stay silent for long. “Now I know what you’re thinking,” he said, as the elevator slid smoothly downward. “Cave, I dunno if this is wise, what with me being a pretty girl and you being—well—Cave Johnson. How'm I gonna resist such a magnetic specimen of manhood?” He chuckled. “Don’t you worry, ol’ Cave will keep you honest.”

For all his bravado, Cave Johnson was a sweet man. She couldn’t help returning his smile.

The elevator dinged again, and the doors slid open. She followed him onto a catwalk, which led to a huge metal door. He tapped a code into the keypad beside it, and with a grinding sound, the massive thing slid open, revealing...

Pitch darkness. As she peered inside, his hand found the lightswitch, and her eyes went huge at what she saw.

“Neat, huh?”

Fluorescents overhead illuminated a huge room—easily six stories tall, built plain and featureless, like a warehouse—and in the center sat a house. A real house.

Caroline breathed, “Wow.”

It was as if a crane had hoisted up a quaint cottage off the street, just like the ones she passed on her ride home, and plopped it miles underground. It was two stories, with a gabled roof and a small front porch.

"When I bought this place, I swore I'd never pay rent again.” Cave grinned proudly as he started towards the house. She followed, and felt the spring of astroturf under her feet. “The bunker’s lead-lined, of course, fully apocalypse-ready. The end of the world, with the comforts of home. We could sell a million of these.” He hopped up the porch stairs—which creaked like ordinary stairs—and opened the ordinary front door.

She stepped into a cozy bachelor’s home. The place was quaintly furnished, and surprisingly clean, like a picture in a catalogue. To her left was a kitchen nook, to her right the promised sofa and a matching armchair beside a brick fireplace, and ahead a set of stairs with a door beneath them.

First, he made a beeline to the liquor cabinet. “You want a nightcap? I got bourbon, I got scotch—”

“No thank you, sir.”

He shrugged and poured himself a few fingers of Jim Beam. Then, holding his glass in one hand, he gave her a quick tour with the other. “Kitchen—” pointing to the nook, “—bathroom—” the door below the stairs, “—bedroom’s upstairs, and I’ll sleep here.” He patted the back of the sofa. “Sound good?”

“Sounds—” She stopped herself. “You’ll sleep here?”

“Well sure, I figured you’d take the bed.”

Her heart skipped. “Oh I couldn’t.”

“Sure you could, I won’t be in it.”

The thought of his bed, smelling him on his sheets, curling up where his body lay—“I think I’d be more comfortable on the sofa.” Or at least less likely to embarrass herself.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged again, and flopped into his armchair to savor his drink.

Following his lead, she sat gingerly on the sofa near him. “Thank you again for this.”

He took a swallow of bourbon. “Y’know, you don’t have to keep thanking me.”

“I… don’t know what else to say.” She felt herself turning pink again. “I’m grateful. It’s very kind of you to go to so much trouble.”

“For my favorite assistant? No trouble at all.” He smiled. “Now I dunno about you, but I’m starved. You want something to eat?”

“Oh I’m fine, thank you,” she said hungrily.

He leveled a no-nonsense look at her over his glass. “Lunch was twelve hours ago.”

“I couldn’t—”

“You can and you’re gonna. I dunno what’s gotten into you tonight, but I’m not about to let you starve. Now quit pussyfooting and let’s eat.”

As it turned out, his kitchen was so clean because he had a fridge full of TV dinners. He pulled out two prepackaged trays of turkey-and-potatoes, defrosted them, and they sat down to eat. She was pretty starved as well—with their mouths full, neither said much over the meal. They ate in companionable silence.

As Cave cleaned up dinner, Caroline glanced at her watch. Almost 2:30. If he’d driven her home, they might still be in the car. This really was the practical option. And to be honest with herself—she watched him fetch a throw blanket and spread it across the sofa—she was enjoying this side of him. She might like to see domestic Cave Johnson more often.

“There you go.” He fluffed a pillow and placed it with the blanket. “All set.”

“Thank you, sir.” She slipped off her shoes and lay down—or tried to. Relaxing on the sofa wasn’t easy. Her snug-fitting sheath dress behaved perfectly standing, but pulled in odd places when she reclined. As she tugged at it, trying to keep it from riding up, he asked “You need something to sleep in?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you.”

He humphed in answer, and went upstairs. Had she upset him? But no, in just a moment he came back down—holding a set of men’s pajamas. He laid them out on the armchair. “They’re here if you want ‘em.”

She wouldn’t. “Thank you, sir,” she said anyway.

“I’ll be right upstairs. You need anything, you wake me up, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl. Now let’s get some sleep.” He turned and headed back up the stairs. “Say goodnight, Caroline.”

“Goodnight, Caroline,” she chirped, and was rewarded with a chuckle before she heard him shut the door.

Now to sleep. She lay down on the sofa, drew the blanket up over herself, and tried to get comfortable. She rolled over to face the cushions. She lay on her stomach. She lay on her back. Each time she moved, she had to pull at the hem of her dress, or else it would ride up over her hips. It really wasn’t the best sleepwear—and she couldn’t afford to burst a seam, especially with no change of clothes here. Not to mention that her stockings had started to itch.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to accept a little more of his generosity. She pulled off the blanket, took the pajamas, and ducked into the bathroom to change.

It took some squirming, but she managed to pull her zipper down and wriggle out of the dress. The stockings came off, and after a moment of hesitation, her bra followed. She might as well get some decent sleep after all this. His pajamas swallowed her, but at least they were comfortable.

She took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. If anyone else saw this, they might get the wrong idea. But it wasn’t like that, no matter what anyone thought. No matter the fantasies that she once had herself.

She knew where she stood with him. People usually did with Cave Johnson. He wasn’t the subtle type, or the type to hold back when he wanted something. If he wanted her, he’d have taken her by now. She was safely beyond his notice.

Still, though, he was Cave Johnson. Anyone would gush a little.

She realized she was hugging herself and let her arms drop. No more nonsense—time for bed. She went back to the sofa and curled up under the blanket, much more comfortable this time. His clothes smelled like him. She breathed in deeply, and couldn’t help thinking of his warmth as she drifted off to sleep.

 

He found her that way in the morning—tucked cozily under the blanket, wearing his pajamas. She looked good in his pajamas. Her face was serene, breath gentle and even, her long dark hair spilled across the pillow. She made quite a little picture. It almost made him think...

Well. He knew where he stood with her. She was young, and eager, and pretty enough, but pretty girls were a dime a dozen. He hired this one ‘cause she was sharp enough to keep up with him. He couldn’t gamble that. And anyway, he was Cave Johnson—if she were interested, she’d have thrown herself at his feet by now.

Still, though. In this moment, he could almost kiss her.

He shook his head. An ol’ dog like him couldn’t change his spots. But he was determined to behave himself with this kid, no matter how cute she got, so he turned away without brushing his lips against her cheek.

 

Some time later, she woke to the smell of sausage and eggs. It took her a moment to remember that she wasn’t in her bed at home. It took another moment to realize that without her alarm, she had no idea what time it was. She bolted upright.

“Morning, kid!” Cave called from the kitchen. “How’d you sleep?”

Her heart was thundering. “Are we late?”

He laughed. “Boss says it’s fine.”

“Sir—!” She kicked off the blanket and scrambled to her feet. Her boss—wearing nothing but an undershirt and boxer briefs, she had to notice—was standing over the stove, frying up breakfast. “We have department briefings at nine—”

“It’s 7:30, relax.”

“ _7:30!_ ”

“Hey, hey,” he chuckled. “We’re already here.”

Oh. Sleeping at the facility, he didn’t have to wake up before dawn like she did. She let herself catch her breath.

“Now come eat.”

It was an order, not an invitation, and the smell of food wafting through the air roused her appetite. And it was very kind of him—he was very kind. “Yes sir,” she said with a smile, and came over to him in the kitchen.

He shoveled a heaping pile of scrambled eggs and sausage onto a plate and passed it off to her. She didn’t even sit down before taking a bite. “Mmm,” she said around her mouthful. “Thank you, sir.”

“Nothin’ fancy, but it’s enough to start the day with, right?” He shoveled the rest onto his own plate. “Can’t do science on an empty stomach.” Much better than her usual cold cereal on the way out the door. She could get used to this. As she tucked in, he asked, “What time d’you usually get up?”

“Oh, 5:00 usually.”

He whistled. “Maybe you should start sleeping here.”

“Have you considered employee dorms?”

His eyebrow quirked. “Talk to me.”

“Living quarters in the facility. It would cut out the commute for anyone in them, and cut down on the need for the shuttle bus. Cut down on living expenses, too—no need to maintain a car or pay rent. Unless you wanted to charge rent in the dorms, which you could.”

He pointed at her with his fork. “I like that.”

“I thought you might.” She couldn’t help a proud smile.

“We’ll look at that. Check the logistics today.” He shoved another bite of sausage into his mouth. “So—” he swallowed. “So what got into you last night, anyway?”

“Sir?”

“ _No sir, I’m fine sir, oh I couldn’t,”_ he mimicked. “What’s that about?”

She kept her eyes on her food. “I just don’t want to impose, that’s all.”

“Trust me,” he chuckled, “I wouldn’t let you. If I’m offering you something, I want you to take it. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re a good kid, Caroline.” He smiled. “I like being good to you.”

She met his eyes for one dangerous moment. He was so kind, and so warm, and she had to look away. He took her empty plate and spared her. Her cheeks burned. This was so far from the Cave Johnson of ads and interviews, the larger-than-life personality of the workday. This man was… real. She could wake up to this man.

Anyway—she brushed the thought aside. She should probably get dressed. They had a workday ahead of them. She slipped off to the bathroom while he was washing up and retrieved her clothes. No one would notice the repeated outfit, she told herself, though not convincingly. The office gossips would eat this up. But it was perfectly innocent, and she really hadn’t had much of a choice, and she would just have to hold her head up like always while they talked behind her back. Let them think what they wanted. They weren’t the ones sleeping in Cave Johnson’s clothes.

She stripped out of his comfy pajamas—folded them neatly, to be polite—and pulled her tight-fitting dress back on. She found herself extra aware of how awkward it was to move in. Reaching around to the zipper behind her back, she zipped it as far as she could without twisting her shoulder out of joint—and stopped. Yes, she could squirm around by herself like she did every morning, or…

“Sir?” She poked her head out of the bathroom. “Would you, um—zip me up?”

“Sure, kid.” Finished with the dishes, he joined her in the bathroom. In the mirror, she saw him come up behind her, still very much wearing only his underthings. Without meeting his eyes, she swept her long hair aside so he could reach the zipper, exposing her neck and shoulder, and the delicate V of bare skin leading down to the small of her back. She felt his gaze, and the lightest tickle of his breath. It seemed to her that it took a second too long for his fingers to find the zipper, that he pulled it up slowly, as if drawing out the vulnerable moment. She dared a glance at him in the mirror and saw the way his eyes lingered at the nape of her neck.

And then he was done. “There ya go.” He clapped her on the shoulder like one of the boys, and went upstairs to put on his own clothes. Alone, she let herself shiver in the wake of his touch. Her purse held a hairbrush and her makeup kit, so she was able to make herself presentable while he changed. She finished just as he came back down, straightening his tie in the mirror by the stairs. “Ready?”

“Yes sir.”

He grinned. “Time to do some science!”

She followed him out the front door, out of the bunker, down the catwalk to the elevator. The closeness inside was more comfortable now. “You know, you didn’t have to do all this—” she started.

“Sure, I wanted to. Tell you what—you can do breakfast next time.”

 _Next time?_ Well, it did prove to be practical. The thought curled up inside her, happy and warm. “I would like that, sir. I’d like that very much.”

* * *

Caroline stifled a yawn. She checked her watch—not quite 10:15. She skimmed the last paragraph of the contract in her hands and passed it over for him to sign. Between the two of them, they could burn through a stack of paperwork in an hour. He signed his own paper with a flourish, then signed the one she gave him, and they were done.

“There we go.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “And just in time to get you outta here.”

“I guess so.”

He glanced at her, catching the reluctance in her tone. “Am I a lucky man tonight?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“Hah!” He jumped up as if reinvigorated. “C’mon then, let’s go home.”

“Yes sir,” she said gratefully, and followed him out the door.

They chatted about the workday on their way down, filling the silent halls with their voices. His place was much closer than the parking lot. It took only a few minutes to reach the elevator.  

“Caroline,” she said to it, and the doors opened for them.

If he were another man, she’d have been over-conscious of the space between their bodies as they stepped inside. But this was her boss, and she relaxed into her place beside him, thinking only of his easy smile.

She slipped out of her heels as soon as they entered the house. Her tired feet flexed gratefully against the floor. “You want a drink?” he asked.

“Just a little one.”

“You got it.”

He poured a glass for himself and half a glass for her. They laughed and talked over their TV dinners. Always about work—tests, projects, the dumb face Stuart made when Cave fired him earlier.

“That’s what you get for flirting with my girl.”

“That’s right, I’m married.”

“To science!” they said together, and laughed.

After dinner, he went up to his bedroom while she laid out her own blanket on the sofa. “Heads up,” he called, and a pair of pajamas fell down from the top of the stairs.

She caught them. “Thank you sir!” She brought a change of clothes for the morning, but his pajamas were still more comfortable to sleep in. She liked that—and he didn’t seem to mind. She changed in the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and brushed out her hair. Ready for bed.

She snuggled up on the sofa, feeling right at home. It was only practical, she told herself—she slept longer at his place, and better. Her own tiny apartment felt lonely in comparison. Why would she want to be there when he was here?

Stripped down to his underwear, he came back down to tuck her in. He yawned hugely.

“You’re so right,” she quipped, and he grinned.

“Let’s get some sleep, kid.”

“Yes sir.” She lay down and let him pull the blanket up over her. “Thank you again for this.”

“Anytime.” He stroked her hair with one hand, brushing it back from her face with his thumb. “Now say goodnight, Caroline.”

“Goodnight, Caroline.” He kissed her forehead, and with a smile, she curled up to sleep.


End file.
